


Availed

by unsettled



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:20:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9345902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: “I think,” Credence says, hesitant and darkly flushed, “I might want it to hurt.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Started from a prompt of Graves having a large cock, turned into a little other, but still smut at least!

Credence isn't used to anything, much less anything large, so Graves is patient. 

Is careful, despite how his blood thrums and hunger grows, every time he brings Credence to the edge, some other way, watches him close his eyes and gasp and shudder his way through coming and thinks instead of _feeling_ that, around him, of feeling sated, finally. 

Is patient, and careful, and restrained, despite the way Credence looks at him, looks at his cock, and blushes and bites his lip, and _doesn't look away_.

After all, there are so many other pleasant diversions, and they are satisfying enough. He can wait. 

“Sir,” Credence says, breathless, already flushed from kissing, from Graves' hands on him, shirt long gone, trousers shoved down around his ankles. Graves hums and turns his attention to Credence's neck, and Credence makes a delightful sound. “Sir,” he gasps out, again, slightly more insistent, and this time Graves pulls back, just a little. Raises an eyebrow. 

Credence licks his lips, his gaze darting nervously. “Can we...” he starts, and falters. 

“Can we what, Credence,” Graves murmurs.

Credence drops his hand, and trails his fingers ever so lightly over the curve of Graves' cock, still tightly trapped in his trousers. “Can we try?” he asks, and Graves blinks in surprise.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “It might hurt, even if we're careful.”

A nod, small but there, and then Credence blushes, deep and red and all over, says, ever so quiet, “I think maybe I want that,” and Graves is patient, Graves is careful, but he is not a saint. He surges forward and kisses Credence, kisses him until he's panting for breath, until Graves can gather himself back together. Enough, at least, to finish disengaging from the rest of his clothes, to push Credence back, flat on the bed.

“Like this,” he tells Credence, turns him over, head resting on his folded arms, turned to the side as he watches Graves. He arranges him carefully, until Credence is displayed, on his knees, his ass the highest point, back sloping down his shoulders, lean and gorgeous. Slides a hand down the curve of his back, and Credence arches into it, lovely “Try not to move,” Graves says, and places his hands on either side of Credence's cheeks, spreading them. Leans forward.

“What-” Credence squeaks, and then, “I- Sir, wh- ah,” as Graves licks harder, longer, until Credence is making only high, hungry noises, squirming back against him. When he looks up, takes a breath, Credence has turned his face down, into the covers, hiding, his hands clenched on the sheets. “Oh, don't,” Credence whines, “please don't stop,” and Graves is only too happy to oblige. 

He indulges them both, until Credence's noises turn desperate and he reaches a hand back, straining. “No,” Graves tells him, “wait, Credence.” Presses his thumb down over the wet, pink flush of Credence's hole, and Credence moans.

“Oh, please, please,” words that are lost in the groan he makes, a second later, as Graves pushes his middle finger in, against the slightest of resistance. Slides it in and out, slowly, twisting a little, and Credence makes the most wonderful little stuttering noises. 

Pushes back, wriggling; “More,” he demands.

Graves chuckles. “Greedy,” he teases, and Credence only pushes back harder. “Oh, very well,” he says, and adds his first finger. It's tighter, slightly, and Credence shivers slightly, catches his breath for a moment. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, idly, and Credence hesitates before he answers. 

“A little,” he says, shakily, no longer pushing back, but not pulling away either. “But...”

He hides his face again, and Graves finishes for him. “You like it.” Feels the flex of Credence's spine as he nods, and smiles. 

By the time he's at three fingers, Credence is moving again, rutting back on them, pushing for more, more, more. By four, he's begging, a relentless stream of desperate noises and pleas falling from his lips. _Hush_ he almost tells him. _I'm trying to make this easier, and you're not helping my self control._ Bites his lip and twists his fingers a littler harder and doesn't say anything more than “Good boy, very good, Credence,” and enjoys the helpless cry Credence lets loose at that. 

Despite it all, when Graves sets the head of his cock to Credence's hole, slides in, so carefully, so slowly, so _patiently_ , Credence makes a broken, choked sound. “Are you-” Graves starts, stilling, waiting, and Credence doesn't waste even a breath before he's cutting in.

“Yes, yes,” he whispers, “just, yes.” 

He takes his time, sinking slowly, letting himself linger in the feeling of Credence, giving way, tight and hot and shivering, little twitches of movement and sharp, short breaths, as good as he'd imagined, and when he's fully seated, he gives himself a moment to just breath, just feel. Strokes his hands along Credence's sides, slow, careful, until Credence sighs and arches beneath him, just a little, but exact, settling him that last bare fraction, perfectly fitted together. 

Credence groans when he withdraws, just a little, and gasps when he pushes back in, and continues to make the most amazing, responsive sounds as Graves moves, short little strokes, sometimes just settling in and shifting his hips, pressing down at Credence's hips until they arch just right, until he hears that little extra catch in Credence's voice on each stroke, feels the shudder roll through him on each withdraw. Lets himself go along with it, each movement a little more, a little more, a little-

“Ah, Credence,” he whispers, breathes into the sweat damped skin of his back, “you're so good, such a wonder,” and Credence's hips snap forward beneath him. He catches his breath as Credence clenches around him, tight and shuddering and wriggling, thrashing, moving so much that Graves has to bite his lip and just hold on to Credence, pin him down with the weight of his body and pant into the back of his neck and try, try, try not to give in and move himself, ruthless, taking. 

He stays still, breathes slowly as he can, and waits, while Credence falls apart beneath him, while Credence goes limp, spent and wore out. He starts to pull out, careful, and Credence makes a harsh, awful sound, almost a scream. “Wait, wait,” he says, frantically, and Graves freezes. 

Wants, so desperately and horrible, to be able to fuck him, to move, and it's so hard to be still, to stop. He _wants_ , and he presses his forehead hard into the hollow between Credence's shoulder blades. “Credence,” he breathes out, very nearly keens, and swallows, hard. “I can't-” his voice breaks, and he has to start again. “I don't think I can be gentle, Credence,” he says, his voice gone harsh, raspy with want. “I don't think I can be careful right now, Credence, I need to pull out, I know it's hard-”

“No,” Credence says, and Graves groans.

“Credence, I have to-” 

“F-fuck me, then,” Credence says, stumbles over his words. 

“What?” Graves says, still frozen despite the way his heartbeat has jumped, blood rushing in his ears. 

Credence turns his head to the side, enough that Graves can see the reddened smear of his lips and the dampness in his eyelashes and the consuming, terrifying look in his eyes. “Please,” he whispers, and Graves really, really isn't a saint. 

“Alright,” he says, “alright,” and sets his hands to Credence's hips, holds him in place as he withdraws, almost all the way, just the head still inside, ignoring the wretched sound Credence makes, and slides back in, faster, harder than before. Doesn't ignore the gutted groan Credence makes, this time, and then he's pulling out, faster, and back in, harder, again, again, again, hungry, using Credence, holding him in place as he feebly scrabbles at the sheets around him, sating himself in Credence as he cries out, short and too sharp and almost more pain than pleasure, almost. Fucks into him, the last shreds of his restraint and patience and carefulness gone, thrusts into him so hard the bed slams into the wall, again, again, again, a dull thud underlying the wet slap of flesh and the high sound of Credence's cries, losing himself in the _feel_ of Credence, around him, under him, his, and he sinks his teeth into Credence's shoulder as he comes, shaking, ripping out of him, far, far better than he had imagined. 

When he pulls out, Credence sobs, and when he rolls off him, Credence remains, displayed, debauched, ass up, as though he cannot manage even to move. Graves turns, pulls Credence in, until he is resting on his side, curled loose, lax, completely done in. There are tear tracks down his cheeks, and he shivers, from cold or other things, Graves couldn't say. 

_Are you alright_ he wants to asks, needs to know, but the answer is clear in the tight furrow of Credence's brow, in the clench of his fists. There's a hollow spot inside Graves' chest, growing with each breath. He pulls Credence in, settles him with his head above that hole, unable to speak. 

Credence turns his face up, leaving wet streaks on Graves' chest. Nuzzles into the side of Graves' neck, and Graves's breath stalls out. 

“Thank you,” he says, and then, half wondering, “I think I got exactly what I wanted.” 

Graves laughs, unable to stop himself.


End file.
